


Connectivity

by ImpishIntentions



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asra (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Asra (The Arcana)'s Route, Asra The Arcana, Asra x reader - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Male Pronouns for Asra (The Arcana), Shameless Smut, Unnamed Apprentice (The Arcana), Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishIntentions/pseuds/ImpishIntentions
Summary: After a heralding interaction with the ghoulish, half-form of Count Lucio, the MC begins to delve deeper and seek answers from a tight-lipped Asra.Smut and angst ahead. I use he/him pronouns for Asra. Feel free to send me requests of type of MC you'd like in the future as well as what pronouns you'd prefer me use for Asra since I know he is canonically non-binary, but the game got me in the habit of using he/him.





	Connectivity

Fragrant lavender wafts and mingles with newly replenished sheets. Your senses always seem heightened after bathing, particularly when that bath happens to be in the strange surroundings of the Countess’s abode. However, it’s hardly an uneventful evening. 

Not when Asra’s attempt at coaxing out the late Count Lucio succeeded.

You could derive many a possibility. It was not beyond your comprehension that an ill-tempered poltergeist could arise when the entire point of the ploy was to lure him from hiding. However, your brain could not cleanse itself of incessant replays of Asra’s body flung like a leaf in shrieking winds against the portrait. Worse even, his face aglow from the enigmatic emblem radiating a moon-pale light upon his chest. Despite studying the magician’s craft for only three years -- you knew the sigil upon his heart was a magic more potent than you could conceive of him conjuring. It was not merely powerful spell to leave that mark.

It was a dangerous one.

As your feet pad toward the foot of the bed you liberate a sigh from the cavities of your chest. You imagine Asra wished to see you. Imagine that he could use cleverly crafted words to place a fine satin blanket across a foreboding situation. The two of you spent nearly every day since his latest arrival together -- sharing many an intimate moment from the slow dragging of finger tips across forearms and sly looks to kisses thieved in the rare reprieves of your journey. You could still taste the spices upon your tongue of his cooking and kisses in the desert.

It was this budding desire which lent itself to your hesitance. When his mouth swelled with words or slithered across the planes of your flesh you knew resolve could fade in an instant. Between the two of you, it is evident you spurred the investigation. Each step he took backward you advanced with vigor forward. Yet during times of smoldering kisses and gripping of flesh through cloth you knew how truly, truly simple it would be to relent. Relent and only give yourself to the pleasures of memory and time with your newfound lover. 

 

Had you pushed his body down to the slender bed in the sanctuary and silenced all inklings of him returning to aid those in need -- you knew with little doubt he would not fight back. Not against you. Not against his seething desire to isolate and defend every part of you he believed could be shattered and scattered to corners of the world he could not hope to reach. It was Asra’s devotion you adored, and his devotion you feared. The secrets embedded in those full lips you could not resist and each time you crashed against him it was almost as though your own magic searched for answers in the connection of flesh and heat. 

You settle upon the bed in a perplexed, though mildly irate state. Frankly, your mood to enter dress robes and dance the night away was spoiled by the flurry of thoughts and questions plaguing you like a nest of congealed locusts. Portia knocks and engages you in slight conversation. Her own eyes swimming with curiosity over the mission conducted mere hours ago. You could smile and banter lightly with her, not wanting to exact what vexation you felt on an undeserving party.

The apparel she left upon the bed looks so fine, so expertly crafted you debate whether or not to touch it. Let alone attempt to slip it onto your frame. The vibrant blues and splatters of silver are a star-congested night. Your fingers deftly shimmy the tops of the fabric to watch light refract from it. While not magic in the way you or Asra studied, this gown causes your mind to wander and inquire if Nadia had her own brand of magic. These thoughts transition your solemn face into one of wonder. Your mouth agape before slipping into a smile as you raise the dress up. It feels as though the seamstress slathered the cloth in butter and wine.

When you swivel to topple to the bed, back plunking against the divinity of the Countess’s sheets and causing pillows to shift -- you clutch the dress to your chest with eyes settling on the gaping ceiling above. Designs more intricate than any your imagination could conjure lined the walls, your prolonged stare making them gradually dance in your mind. 

 

It’s a succession of knocks on the door that jolt you from the daze. 

 

You slide your legs beneath your backside and prop yourself against the wall of pillows. Before you can slither from the bed to welcome the guest, the oak door groans to an open. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I decided to let myself in.” 

The very last person you want to see. 

Asra in the sheer robe stands precisely three feet from the door. His typical curled hair appearing especially ruffled compared to the norm. He must not have brushed it after the altercation with Lucio. Your eyes fall upon his sheepish face with a half-lidded glower. You eyes fixate on his forehead more than anything. A rather smart choice considering the robe he donned is....less than modest. The fabric loose with golden trim leaving his body on near-full display. Your mind flashes back to the feverish kisses when washing one another in Nadia’s bath. It’s then that your eyes strain even harder to remain precisely where you wanted them. 

 

Asra is a far cry from ignorant. His entire disposition that of a mouse shrinking into a corner more than anything. You ponder whether he regrets coming to visit you. 

 

“I can leave if...”

 

“No. Stay.” Your voice is callous. Sharp. Not a twinge of saccharine in the two words. He hesitates, eyes widening and a visible quiver in his Adam’s Apple. “Alright,” he agrees and takes a few measured steps toward you before stopping at the dresser. 

 

“You think I’m going to bite?” 

 

He chuckles, though the sound is marred by a grim undertone. “I’m not entirely sure.” Asra answers with an earnest, albeit still nervous, tone. “I’m assuming I wronged you?”

 

You tentatively nod and your legs without your immediate thought swing over the side of the bed, bringing you closer to him. He seems closer than before as well, his feet carrying him another meek step toward you. It’s as though you are involuntary magnets. His gaze notices your stiff body language, but takes into account the shift of your body. 

“I’m not happy, that is for sure.” You exhale, eyes catching a flash of his bronzed flesh. 

His face is consumed with concern. Asra clearly and abundantly aware of the tension. “I never meant to upset you,” the words come out breathy, almost as though he did not intend for you to hear them. 

At that, you can feel yourself soften. Despite the increasing frustrations with the plethora of secrets withheld from you -- you could feel his sincerity. Your rigid expression falters into that of a somber understanding. 

 

“I know,” you say with eyes slipping to the floor beneath your dangling feet. “You hate it when I call you Master, but most of the time it feels like we still aren’t...”

 

“Equals?” He finishes the sentence, noting that your words drug on a moment too long. “I promise you, I do. I trust you unerringly.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like you do.” You retort, face eschewing into that of disappointment. 

 

He makes a bold move. Walking directly to where you sat and kneeling at the bedside. Violet hues brimming with a desperate sincerity. “Please, ask me anything. If I don’t or can’t answer, I won’t lie. I’ll just...”

 

“Say nothing? Run away?” You interrupt, hands clenching in your lap. 

 

He bites his lower lip, his eyes flickering away for an instant. He tilts his head toward yours once more after a moment of pause, “Yes to the first. No to the second. I am not going anywhere. Never again.” You can’t help the feeling of adoration fluttering in your chest at this. It was....so impossible to hold a lasting grudge. 

 

_“Asraaaa, you have always been impossible! Impossible to hate....impossible to love,” _the ghoul’s words reverberated in your mind.__

____

__

____

__

 

“I can promise you, however, that I will answer every possible question that I can.” 

 

“Every one?” You reiterate, brows raising in a dubious fashion.

 

“Yes, every one.” He inches closer, his hands slipping upward to cradle your hands within his own. Every muscle in your hands ease at his touch. He can feel the change and strokes soothing patterns over your hands with his thumb. When you further relax against the caress, he lifts your hands to dust his lips across your knuckles. It’s almost as though he is worshiping a wrathful deity. His reverent touches make your very breathing slow. 

 

Yet you hear that same echo of Lucio’s voice in your mind. Not fresh, but a memory from hours ago. It reinvigorates your desire to just...know.

“Asra,” you slip your hands from his grasp. Instead, raking one through his silvery locks as the other cups his face. Like a sunflower to sun, his face leans into your touch. “You make this so hard.” You mutter when his lips and lashes are flush against your palm. 

Finally, a familiar smile curls the skin of your hand. “It’s a gift,” he raises his hands once more to move your palm directly over his mouth. Your breath hitches. “Asraaaa,” you release a spluttering groan of frustration and force yourself backward -- legs now crisscrossed beneath you and hands waving in an exasperated motion. 

 

He hesitates for a moment, surprise etched into his gaze. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to be distracted.” You say with bravado. Truly, it’s for sake of appearing in full control of your wants. You could not afford for him to seep through the cracks with his charm. Though, your choice of words surely were meant as a reassurance for him.

 

“I understand,” he gives a slight smile and ascends to sit beside you on the bed. His own legs crossing with hands stationing themselves on his knees, elbows bent out. “Let’s start then, shall we? What do you want to know?” 

 

A loaded question. What didn’t you want to know?

 

Asra’s beatific face watches you with intent interest. His elbows now lay flat against his legs with upper body lurched forward toward you. All of the attention centered on you makes an uncomfortable chortle bubble to your lips. You place your hands over his eyes with a toothy grin and his own face lifts in amusement. 

 

“Are we playing a game now?” He inquires, an almost sultry tone sneaking into the words. “I do like games,” Asra’s dimpled cheeks and charming banter are causing those same, surging feelings of happiness to decay your resolve. 

 

“N-o-o-o-o,” you release a string of exaggerated laughs and vowels, “You keep staring at me so intensely.” 

 

“That’s no different than usual.” Asra’s voice is teeming with that all too common playfulness. 

 

“It’s hard to think,” you insist. Your heart thrums like a flock of bird’s in Nadia’s menagerie. 

 

“Oh?” He says, placing his hands atop your own. “I certainly wouldn’t want to do to that.” His eyes remain lidded as he guides your hands downward from his eyes, to his cheeks, to his parted lips, to his neck. His jawline is strong, so different from the angelic features of the rest of his face. Everything below his chin is firm muscle layered with skin more downy than any fabric the palace could conjure. Touching him like this was a nearly religious experience.  
“First question?” Now, it is Asra who is prodding. The tables rapidly turning as he lifts one coy eye to your face. 

 

“First question,” you collect yourself, chest puffing in determination. “What is the mark on your chest? It doesn’t look like any magic I’ve seen you perform before.”

 

His face immediately falls. 

 

“Let me guess....you can’t tell me?” Your previous aggravation is a slow frost across your body. Slow, but veins of creeping ice versus the arctic welcome he initially received.

 

He shakes his head and shoulders slump into their ashamed state. The guilt wracks his body in ways that make it evident to you the turmoil. It was pure agony swimming in his amethyst gaze. 

 

It was excruciating enough a sight for you to relent. “I’ll find out on my own.” You insist, your hands lifting his face while thumbs trace circles into his cheeks. 

 

He nods, a grave and truly, truly conflicted emotion plaguing his countenance. “I know,” he exhales. “I want to answer everything I can.” 

 

“I believe you.” And while you could not abandon your quest for truth, you knew that it was foolish to endlessly mistrust Asra. Why couldn’t you feel the same anger as before? It was, quite frankly, maddening. Maddening how one who held cards to your past could only ever clutch them to his chest. “I’m going to ask other ones then. It’s about the past. But I want to know about yours.”

 

His eyes widen, mouth parting in the same bewilderment. “Of course,” he seems to blossom with those words. 

 

“Next question--who was your first kiss?” You withdraw your hands from him to fold them over your lap. Your eyes flickering in genuine curiosity. 

 

A tea-rose blush creeps onto his cheeks. The color flaring brighter and brighter as he registers how to respond. “Ah, my first? Actually,” his eyes skid to the side in abasement. “It was Muriel.” 

 

That was shocking, even to you. “Muriel? Really? Were you...together?” Your curiosity simmers, but no hint of jealousy or possessiveness resides within you. 

 

“I suppose. We were young. Maybe twelve? Thirteen? It didn’t last.” He shrugs his shoulders before resting his face in the palm of his hand. “It wasn’t a hard transition either way. We were always going to be close.” He answers a question that had not even fled from your lips. Though, it surely would have had he not continued. 

 

Before you could consider the ramifications or whether the question was out of bounds, your follow-up was fast. 

“Have you had sex?” You blurted. It was naive. At best. Uncouth at worst. 

 

You can practically see Asra’s spine straighten. Versus minutes ago, he was now entirely beet-red. “Well, yes.” He clears his throat and struggles to meet your gaze. It was a significantly more dramatic reaction than the previous. 

 

“How old were you the first time?” 

 

“Ah, I had just turned sixteen.” You could practically feel his heart crashing against his ribs. 

 

“I am sorry. I didn’t think this was...”

 

“No, no. You are alright.”

 

“It wasn’t with Muriel, was it?”

 

You watch as his mouth dries and he gulps back another anxious bout. There was a secret. One you couldn’t be certain you could avoid exploring. After all, if he avoided the initial, most burning query of the night you imagine that you could ask whatever you wish. 

 

While you expect him to agree with your initial statement, he shakes his head. “No. Not Muriel.” You could swear that his entire body was taking on a different shade.

 

“Is it any of our other friends?” You aren’t certain why you pursue this further, but anything regarding his past was beyond intriguing. 

 

“No,” Asra responds with haste, but for the first time since this line of questioning began he coaxes a sly look from himself. “I am surprised you are so curious. Is there a reason?”

 

It was your turn to be overcome with embarrassment. “I...I guess. Part of me wonders if I’ve ever had those experiences. I’m not sure if I am living vicariously through you or just wanting to learn more, but--”

 

Asra is quick. His lips melding against yours. The pressure is delicate, but surely present. You melt against him. His kiss too brief for your liking, as you tried to lean into him more the very moment he slid away. The knowledge of your desire and pouting lips gives him a reason to grin. “I can tell you a secret,” he inhales with deft fingers dancing up and down your bare arms. He leans closer, sinful lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You have.” 

 

Now you feel yourself freeze. You could sense the two of you had known one another before three years ago, but for him to drop such a bomb on you meant he likely knew you longer and far more in-depth than he ever led on. 

 

“Can you tell me more?” You feel your lungs sucking in more air, the rise and fall of your chest in elongated counts. Asra’s face is still close to yours, his nose rubbing against yours in a doting manner. “I’m not sure,” his answer is honest, yet again. 

 

“What if I guess?” There is a breathless hopefulness in your voice. You are nearly quivering from the tantalizing information about your past. Whenever you and Asra were alone....You kissed and tangled limbs, even snuck in handfuls of flesh. However, it always ended prematurely. Your kisses, no matter how lingering, always ended. However, every kiss felt both exhilarating and comfortable. A bridge to leap from to be caught by home-spun blankets.

 

He pauses, silent for an instant to mull over the proposal, before agreeing. “What a game you’ve come up with.” 

 

“I know you love them,” you tease with a genuine smile careening across your visage. You make the next move and place a series of curt, but fervent kisses across his face. Asra’s eyes close, a slight noise reverberating in his chest at the littering of kisses. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs as though a prayer. You soaked him in. His delectable perfume, his low yet airy voice, his tufts of white hair brushing against the edges of your face.... 

 

“If not Muriel,” you relay kisses along his cheekbone now, hands snaking up his thighs to hear his breath catch. “Julian? Nadia? Selasi?” Asra shakes his head and grasps your waist, changing the dynamic. He guides your back to the downy comforter. Your eyes fasten upon his glorious face which clouds with hunger. You’d seen that look multiple times, but this time it felt...more focused. Deeper. Less controlled. 

 

You grip him with nails clawing the fabric of his robe. When he bends down from above you to nibble and brush his lips against the hollow of your throat, the robe droops over his shoulders -- revealing his chest in it’s full splendor. Broad shoulders and defined muscles are all too exposed now. You imagine your own eyes mimic the ravenous nature of his own. 

 

“No,” he sighs against your throat with harsher kisses lining the flesh. “No, and....definitely no.” Asra’s teeth rake across the side of your neck, making your jugular pulse harsher with hot blood. You part your thighs, giving him space to rest closer to your body. When his body sinks between them you can feel heat pool between your legs. An insufferable throbbing. Your back arches into him, forcing yourself impossibly closer to him. You restrain moans and try to find any words to regain discipline. 

 

“Asra, this feels...so good.” You push his robe further down until the sleeves fall away from his arms and the robe rests on his hips. You notice more than ever something protruding from between his legs. The translucent fabric of his attire giving you little to question. Your inquisitive nature flares. Your hands sweep from the tops of his shoulders, down the planes of his stunning chest, lower...lower...

 

“Wait,” a shivering hand grips yours. You were so worked up from the exploration of his body that you did not recognize how flustered he appeared. His chest’s movements are steep swells. Even his abdomen shifting with severity as he looks down with panic.

 

“Let me help you get dressed, Nadia is expecting us.” He falls away from you, rolling to the side and pulling the arms of the robe back upon his frame. 

 

This time, you feel true fury. “I _**am ** _dressed.” You hiss, the loss of his warmth, his touch, his weight...It was actually painful._****_

_****__** ** _

_****__** ** _

 

Asra turns to you from the edge of the bed, those vivacious violet eyes a congealed mess of emotion. He tries, regardless, to crack a lighthearted smile and lift up the crumpled dress that looks like starlight. 

“I imagine the Countess would appreciate you wearing what she picked out for you.” His tone fills with as much brevity as his smile...though neither reach his eyes. 

 

You are not amused. Far, **far** from beguiled. 

 

“Asra,” you begin. “Listen, and _**please** _, please listen.” The seriousness of the situation only defiled by the oddity of you trudging toward him using your knees. Though, you somehow manage a commanding enough air that he remains attentive.__

“I want you,” you state with pure fortitude ringing in every syllable enunciated. 

“You have me. Every possible part of me is yours.” He answers, but you watch him deflate upon hearing your release an exasperated groan and drag rough palms over your eyes and forehead until they wove into your hair.

 

“Please, Asra, don’t tell me you don’t know what I am talking about.” You are buried in the mountain of pillows, but you further stifle your vexation by smashing one with a red and black diamond print into your face. “I thought if I wasn't a virgin before you that you would be more open to...trying.” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you could not dare to peak at your previous master’s face. “You treat me like I am one of the bottles on our shelves back home. You hide things from me, you treat me like I am easily broken...” you trail off and embrace the pillow with more gusto. 

 

You rarely cry. If ever. However, the nature of the conversation gave birth to every insecurity, every concern, every affliction regarding the past. And into the diamond-patterned fabric -- treacherous tears tore themselves from your sockets. The droplets staining the pillow, but no sobs or wails of misery could pass. 

“You just said we were equals. If you don’t want to sleep with me, I understand, but I am confused. Because I want you so much.” If he could not decipher whether or not you were crying before, the meek breaks in your voice betray you. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. That’s not it. I just feel like you hide everything from me. You treat me like I’m a doll. I don’t want it to be like this...” You croak once more, voice hoarse from suppressing the stereotypical crying noises.

 

The familiar, blessed weight of his body returns. His arms circling your body and pulling you into his lap. He rests his face on your shoulder and you could feel him quiver. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I never wanted you to...It never, ever occurred to me that you could think I don’t want you.” Asra’s fingers thread through your hair, combing through each strand with deliberate, leisure affection. 

 

Your first thought is to pull away, but instead your body becomes the fated magnet. Fingers digging into his shoulders and head burying into his neck. Asra feels the dampness of tears against his neck. You can tell because you feel them rolling from your face to his flesh. His breath is your own. The two of you clutching one another with a noxious concoction of torment and love.

 

“I made you cry. I never see you cry. I really messed up, didn’t I?” You can hear a wobble in his own voice. When you detach from him to examine his face -- his eyes are swollen with thick tears. At this, your mouth trembles into a pathetic smile. “You are crying too?” 

 

Asra coughs out a chuckle. “How can I not? I made my adorable apprentice upset. I made you think you were unwanted. Which is the last, the last thing you are. As for the secrets...” He trails off with both of you sniffling like utter morons. “I know I need to be better. I know I need to trust you more. Can you forgive me?” 

The lights flickering outside of guests arriving to frolic in the grandiose halls of the palace distract you only for a moment. Asra notices this and raises a hand to snap his fingers. The lavish, lavender curtains shudder and conceal the ruckus outside. Another spell is uttered, this one verbal as the magician closes his eyes for a prolonged moment. Once his eyes hammer open, you grant him a quizzical brow. 

 

“Which spell?” You inquire with your hands locked behind his neck. 

 

An alluring air encompasses Asra. His eyes darkening with what you can’t fully pinpoint. “Oh, a special one.” He purrs, backing your body once more against the towering pile of pillows. Your heart practically ceases beating. His honey and spice breath wafts into your mouth as he eyes you with an air that has your insides churning. You were....excited. 

 

The noises from moments ago of rowdy guests. It vanished. The epiphany of Asra’s spell dawns on you in that instance. “A silence spell?” You are swallowing wads of thickening saliva and nerves. Asra’s seductive aura is not altered at all by the answer. “You are correct,” his croon is addictive. As though you’ve drunk twenty cases of Vesuvia’s finest wine. 

 

When Asra moves between your thighs, it is not you initiating such as the first time. Rather, his ginger fingertips coax them to an open by guiding your knees out. You are still fully clothed. A modest emerald tunic with black trousers. Asra on the other hand is....well...a single untying of a sash from complete nudity. The thought itself riles you up.

 

“Do you still want this?” You hear worry wrack his voice, eyes dimming from their former lasciviousness. Fluffy hair falls over his eyes and frames his face above you almost as though an angel was descending. He was....ethereal. And the edge of longing mingling with his care for you only strengthened your resolve. 

 

“I do.” Two simple, effective words. Sealing the deal, you run your fingers through the back of his hair with assurance in each stroke. It’s soon after you reach down between your bodies to tug and shimmy the trousers off your body. Ankles kicking, you feel less sexy than ever, Particularly when the way in which they are tailored makes taking them off somewhat inconvenient.

 

Asra’s amethyst gaze seems almost...too teasing. “Having trouble are we?” He says, his right hand yanking your leg upward, causing your upper body to slump hard into the bed. “O...Ow.” You grumble, but the discomfort is hardly present when you see your leg in the air and Asra’s fingers working the fabric until he discards it to the oblivion of the room. 

 

“You wore the perfect outfit to bed,” this surely is a jest, but his eyes...they are molten. Lava searing crystal. Your insides become a swarm of eels. Wriggling, writhing, and squirming with electricity surging from your core outward. 

“Ha, ha, ha.” You taunt, sitting up and pushing against his chest. The cool air hitting your legs suddenly made you acutely aware of how sensitive your body is. Particularly...the space between your legs. So much so that you squish your thighs together and stretch the tunic over your knees.

 

Asra’s expression turns questioning. “Having doubts?” Ever the gentleman, he manages to misunderstand. 

 

“No. I’m just...” you know if you do not explain in ideal clarity he’ll continue to hesitate. “I’m really feeling it. Down there.” Could you die from embarrassment? Surely, if one could, you would be in a coffin with a horse-drawn carriage trotting your corpse to the morgue. 

 

And yet, the opposite reaction you anticipate occurs. 

 

The carnivorous look no longer is isolated to his eyes. His teeth clench his lower lip before the padding of his tongue swipes across. If we did not eat earlier in Lucio’s room you would have mistaken his expression for that of unbridled hunger for food. Yet instead, his stare was set upon only you. And it feels as though he will eat you alive.

 

“May I?” You watch his hands stroke the outsides of your thighs, the sensation of his palms on a part of you he’d never caressed without heaps of apparel plastered to your body causes a mewl. You feel as though you are trembling. You nod to him, nailing your eyes shut as a fierce flush streams across your face. Once he receives your blessing, he scales his hands up until his thumbs catch the ends of the tunic. Your breath hitches. 

 

He does not stop dragging the fabric until it is at the junction between your arms and neck. You acquiesce to the silent plea and help him slip you out of the tunic. You lay completely, excruciatingly bare before him. And nothing touches you except the frigid air of the room and his fiery gaze. 

 

“You are so beautiful. So, so beautiful...” he murmurs. His entire tone is ginger, admiring-- as though he is complimenting art from one of the great master’s. However, when you grasp the gumption to open your eyes you see his face is drinking every ounce of you. 

 

“I want to see you...” you do not want to beg, but your voice’s break made the desperation for him blatant. 

 

You wait for his acceptance. One he gives willingly and with no reluctance. When you catch him shrugging out of the robe again, your greedy hands shoot forward to unfurl the sash. He is momentarily stunned, but recovers to help you by shedding the apparel from his body once the sash falls away. 

 

You shared a bed with Asra. For years. In your little, quaint magic shop. You caught glimpses of skin, bumped into him in the middle of the evening. You dreamt of what it would be like to be this way with him for longer than you care to admit, but with him before you this way....it overwhelms you. Surpassing all imaginings you conjured in these three years. 

 

His body is lean, but far more toned and defined with bands of muscles than you could make out from his clothing. Your eyes roam more of him, committing all of him to memory and shifting from the valley of his abdomen down to his pelvis. Lowering your ogling eyes until you saw the culprit from earlier. You could not remember if you slept with anyone in your past and your dalliance with the study of magic kept you abundantly busy the last three years...but you feel certain Asra more than measures up to any other. His girth and length alone made you question how you would, well....go about this. 

 

The tip of his cock already beads with precum and it truly bemuses you how he already became so hard. 

 

Your silence is something Asra notes. 

 

“Am I acceptable?” He says with budding curiosity and a flirtatious air. Asra turns his body from side to side, muscles rippling on his rib cage and abdomen as he does so. It’s as though he’s taunting you. You nod, a faint look of enthrallment sweeping across your visage. “I think you might make the cut.” This elicits a hearty laugh from him. 

 

“Oh, I certainly hope so.” Another seductive purr rolls off his tongue, and once more he is on top of you. 

 

When his nude body collides with your own, you are breathless. Worse even, his lips upon yours are suffocating. The taste of him, his sheer intensity, the movement of his body rolling and shifting against your own overloads your senses. He is marble, and flesh, and silk, and everything delightful in the world. His taste intoxicates you and the slick between your legs begins to traverse down your thighs. you push Asra harder against your mouth, beckoning him to give you what you crave. 

 

When your tongues ghost across lips, tongue, and teeth it’s so voracious it’s as though the goal is to crawl beneath each other’s skin. You are moaning into him now, hips bucking into his waist and breasts taut against him. When he feels the hardened nipples, he does not break our kiss as he cups your breast. His thumb and middle finger pinch and roll as his other hand holds the back of your head to steady the fierce kisses. 

 

Once more, you are whimpering against him. However, this time you release such a pleasure-induced keening that the kiss halts and Asra’s kiss-swollen lips are trailing all over your body. He is fluid in biting, marking, nibbling any piece of supple flesh his lips reach. Your neck once he finishes ravishing it is pink and raw from his treatment. You are immensely, tortuously grateful for the Spell of Silence he cast. For anyone to hear how needy and in-heat you were would be....less than welcome. 

 

“Asra,” you breathe. Every inch of you acting like live-wire. Your fingers weave through his hair and tug, but he quarrels with your command and replaces his fingers on your nipple with his mouth. “Oh God,” you jolt with the feeling of his tongue lathering your nub. His hand still groped the underside of your breast, but the hand which ones cradled your head now massages the other breast. His mouth suckles your nipple, switching from soft licks to rough tugs and forceful rolls. When you writhe beneath him and are practically screaming from the heat between your legs, he continues to deny you of true relief by marking and tormenting your other breast with his mouth. 

 

“Asra, Asra....Asra, please....please.” It is no exaggeration. You are pleading for him. This time you are almost too harsh tugging him away from your nipple, locking your legs around him and pressing the source of your agony against him. You mewl as you coerce him into a saliva-heavy, sloppy make-out session. This time, he moans when your mouth and pussy glide against him. 

 

“Shh, shh. My love, please be patient.” He heaves, holding your face in his hands as he sprinkles kisses from beneath your eyes to your forehead and back to your lips. “You look so incredibly....tempting. I’m not even sure if that’s the right word. I’ve already given in.” He looks just as hungry as you, but a modicum of discipline still seems embedded in his countenance. 

 

“I need you so badly,” you murmur with the entirety of your body positively vibrating with desire.

 

“Your eroticism is making this so difficult for me to endure. But we’ve only just started.”

 

“I can’t...” at those words from your trembling lips, Asra spreads your legs further apart, snakes between your legs, and without hesitation licks from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. A strangled sound escapes your parted lips. You already feel beyond flustered, but the sensation of his tongue alone made you want to cum. “Asra, Asra....please no....I want to cum with you.” You are begging, once more. Yet all you see from between your legs is heaps of silken, curly locks like cloudy-reveries and the occasional vision of his face burying itself in your pussy. 

 

“Asra, please...” you moan, your hips bucking as his tongue lavishes your clit with long sucks. The more you plead, the more aggressive he becomes going down on you. It’s apparent he will make you cum first. And as much as it enthralls you to experience such heights of rapture, you fear not having him inside you. 

 

He inserts a digit inside of you, tongue and mouth still slathering your clit with flicks and light nibbles. However, once he pumps four times, he adds a second finger and stretches your insides. Once the two fingers fuck you, you watch as Asra’s eyes fasten on your expression. His amethyst eyes are shadowed by pure lust. And as his fingers slid with more fervor into you, so does his tongue. The muscle of his tongue rapidly motions over your clit to the point he can feel you throbbing. Your clit at this point is so sensitive and in agony you are only a quivering, mindless mess on the bed. Hips bucking and forcing your wetness all over his face. Cheeks, nose, hair, chin....all coated in your desire. 

 

It surprises you how long you’ve lasted. However, it ends swiftly when the third finger spreads you apart and his mouth is so ravenous against your clit that you shriek and hold his head down as you reach orgasm. White and black splotches dart across your vision, lids wound over your eyes as you ride the impeccable waves of pleasure brought on from your orgasm. It feels as though it lasts ages. Riding off your bliss and release until you find the energy to open your eyes. 

 

When you do--Asra is still with his gorgeous face between your legs. His entire face, as you suspected, is sleek with your cum. “A-Ah-Asra.” You feel as though your bones are jelly. Every muscle in your body loose in the most blissful manner. 

 

“Why did you make me cum?” You are breathless, and slightly wounded by his urgency to finish you without sharing in your high. 

 

Asra’s fingers sticky and thick with your slick are brought to his lips where he gives long, loud sucks to eat. “You taste so good. I couldn’t stop. Plus,” you are on alert once more as the person who brought you so much ecstasy positions himself between your legs. “My heart, you didn’t think you can only cum once, right?” 

 

It is then you reached an epiphany. Your eyes and mouth wide as windows, you feel the head of his cock probe your entrance and mewl. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” You exhale with swirling puzzle pieces gradually coming together. 

Asra’s smile is eschew. Dazzling and sultry. “Since we were sixteen.” 

 

Again, your mind races. “We were each others firsts?”

 

He shakes his head to signal the opposite. “You were mine. Before me there was another in your life.” Those words only further send you spiraling. 

 

“However,” his hips push insistently against yours. The head of his cock sliding into your entrance. You throw one hand over your mouth as the other drives your nails into the comforter. “I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he brags with one hand gripping your hip to anchor you. “And now, I can be your first,” he uses his other hand to tear away the one you realize you are biting into. “I want to hear all of your noises.” Asra insists, and you follow suit by nodding and intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Much better,” and with that he hilts himself within you. He was right. You could come again....and again...and again. However, the first round he rocks inside of you, only filling you with half of him. As he gauges your reactions, hears your moans fall from discomfort to pleasure, he sheaths his entire cock inside of your pussy. The entire night of grinding, muscle and skin flush against one another, sweet nothings, and curses echoed into the night...

It feels as though Asra and you are in your own world. As though the melting ecstasy is all that is necessary to reach Nirvana. His moans grow in quantity and his sharp thrusts, digging into your cervix endlessly, become less calculated. You whimper against his shoulder, meeting his thrusts with eager bucks, “I love you, I love you,” you repeat the mantra between curses and shattering howls of pleasure. 

Asra’s typically soothing voice took on a new tonality as he fucks you. His voice guttural and wracked by heavy breathing from pumping into you.

 

“Fuck....God, I missed this.”

 

“You feel so good. So, so good.”

 

“You are amazing, you feel so tight and wet, fuck!” 

 

He gropes your flesh, both of you snatching the skin of cheeks and shoulders and hips and chests. Once you pull his body lower with his chest flush against your own, you hear his labored breathing in your ear. More and more he punishes your pussy, leaving you a shrieking mess until he warns you of his oncoming orgasm. 

 

“Please....Please cum,” you whisper against the hollow of his ear. At your command, he takes hold of both your hips and drives himself as deep as possible. One, two, three, four, five thrusts before he comes undone -- spilling his seed inside of you. The throbbing and engorgement of his cock prior to cumming was enough to send you on your next orgasm. 

 

Asra collapses on top of you. Spent, exhausted, and drenched in sweat from both yourself and him. When your eyes trail from the cum he left inside you to his euphoric face, you could not help but feel the most immense accomplishment. Above all else, the most incredible joy. Curling into his side, you dabble kisses along his neckline and dust your fingers across his chest and sides. “Asra?” You murmur his name, breath finally enough to clearly call for him.

 

However, his sleepy drawl gives you the prospect he could go into an immediate comatose. “Yes, my love?” His mess of sweat-drenched curls sticks to his forehead and cheeks as he leans over to leave adoring kisses to the top of your head. 

 

“Nadia is going to be pissed.” Your eyes find his, which turn to you in astonishment.


End file.
